Parker: Missing Dad: What did I know ?’

Sunday

Jun 16, 2013 at 12:01 AMJun 16, 2013 at 3:44 PM

But every Father’s Day leaves me with a sense of loss — an emptiness I thought the years would cure somehow. Nearly 13 years ago, I lost my father and my best friend. Given the health problems he had battled from 1957 until his death in September 2000, I count myself fortunate to have held on to him for so long.

Mike Parker / Columnist

Father’s Day always brings me mixed emotions.

I know the joy of being both a father and a grandfather. The Lord has blessed me with four children and 12 grandchildren. I desire to be as special in the lives of my grandkids as my Granddaddy and Granny were in my life.

But every Father’s Day leaves me with a sense of loss — an emptiness I thought the years would cure somehow. Nearly 13 years ago, I lost my father and my best friend. Given the health problems he had battled from 1957 until his death in September 2000, I count myself fortunate to have held on to him for so long.

A couple of weeks after he died, out of habit I picked up the phone to ask him for some advice. Then the realization I would never be able to make those calls again sank my spirit as if a millstone had been tied around my neck.

My parents were the biggest influence during my early years. Neither of my parents finished high school. They lived in a time when drop-outs were the norm — a time when a person could learn a trade or a craft and still make a good living. Dad became a sheet metal worker. His coworkers always held in high esteem his understanding of the craft and his skill.

Dad and Mom determined that their sons would not follow their paths. My brother John and I knew we were going to college before we knew what a college was — probably before we were potty trained. I graduated from high school in June 1968 — and Dad earned his GED the same year. I gave him my class ring to honor his achievement.

Dad and I rode together for much of the time I attended Ohio State. He worked only about two miles from campus. Zipping down I-70 in the cramped space of the 1966 VW bug put us in close proximity. I got to really know my father.

We became fast friends. He was my most trusted confidante. As I got older, I realized he always gave me the best advice he could … always. And 99 percent of the time, he was dead-on.

In August 1971, I received my B.A. in English and moved to North Carolina to teach at Grace Christian School. Dad helped. Once I was settled in my trailer and stowed what few possessions I had, we ate breakfast the first morning I had to report for duty. Then he drove away.

I was on my own … sort of.

Things he told me — his sayings — still stick with me.

“If a man’s word is no good, he is no good.”

“Well begun is half done.”

“Can’t is a coward and afraid to try.”

“Do it good; do it all; do it well or not at all.”

He modeled the virtues of integrity, hard work, commitment to family, and duty.

If I know anything about being a man, I learned the lessons from him.

Often in literature classes at East Carolina, I teach a poem titled “Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden. The speaker of the poem, an adult man recalling his relationship with his father, realizes how much love his sometimes angry father had for him and the family. The speaker says at the close:

“What did I know, what did I know / of love’s austere and lonely offices?”

After I became a father, I understood much better the demands of “love’s austere and lonely offices.” I also saw my father in much deeper hues and brighter light.

Dad, I still miss you … more than words can say.

Mike Parker is a columnist for The Free Press. You can reach him at mparker16@suddenlink.net or in care of this newspaper.

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